Policy
by Beezle'sgotthemusic
Summary: "So, tell me, Veelma, why is the most eager journalist I know trying to weasel out of her job?" "You're not getting anything out of me.""Really you've been in the worst of moods." "Hank..." she warned. "What man has wronged you! I'll beat him up."


Policy

By Beezle

* * *

Avoidance was the best policy in Veelma's mind because confrontation only ever lead to a fight. At the end of their 'confrontations' Veelma would find herself hating him more and more while James (she was certain) became convinced she was the sleaziest reporter around. The first time she'd ran into him after the horrible exchange of the morning after she had tried to reconcile things and he was a perfect jack arse. She maintained this idea that she had to set him right, she simply had to, but James became even more obstinate with every meeting. The last straw was when he slammed the door in her face.

She was pissed. She had been trying to tell him the truth for a whole month, a whole month! He wasn't even worth it. Veelma still unfortunatley ran into him from time to time. This lead to meeting him occasionally in Diagon Alley. She would glare daggers at him and he would call her a whore. It was an extremely healthy relationship.

Luckily for Veelma she didn't have to see him all that often and chance meetings were rare. This (rare) occurance was alright with her. It was better than alright. It was brilliant. She could handle the occasional insult because the ideal of him never existing was not a possibility. Of course then he had to ruin even that solace by landing himself a spot on Puddlemere United as a chaser. She swore like a sailor upon that discovery.

Veelma was a damn Quidditch and Gossip columist, Jesus Christ she'd have to see him every week during the season. She would have to freaking interview him. That would go well: "James, how do you feel about your team's chances to win the cup?" "You're a whore." "Thank you for that insight." No that wouldn't do. Hence the avoidance policy and her boss giving her a new one.

"Fucking hell Skeeter! That's kid's work right there! You're not a sixteen year-old adolescent girl."

Veelma merely raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I, unlike some people in this department, don't give a rat's arse who your mother was. Your work is no where near her caliber."

"Of course not I tell the truth."

Mr. Nevdin grew red in the face. For being a Ravenclaw Veelma sometimes wasn't very smart. "You're going to the damn conference Skeeter or you'll be filling out your resignation." That was motivation enough.

"Hank," she said knocking on the dark room door. "Get your camera."

"Ha! I told you but no _'Nevdin can't tell me what to do_'."

"Shut up Hank."

That was how her avoidance policy went to shit.

Walking up the steps to the Puddlemere headquarters Veelma took a deep breathe. "Get that stupid look off your face Hank." He continued to smirk and Veelma sighed, nothing was going her way as of recent.

"So, tell me, Veelma, why is the most eager journalist I know trying to weasel her way out of her job?"

"You're not getting anything out of me."

"Really Veelma you've been in the worst of moods, no fun to be around at all."

"Hank..."

"What man has wronged you! I'll beat him up." Hank was till laughing at her however, he didn't look like he was ready to beat anyone up.

"Your protective streak, adorable as it is, won't be needed Hank."

"I'm not adorable," Hank said ass they pushed through the glass doors.

The Puddlemere United headquarters was a square building that consisted of multiple training rooms, shower rooms, a trophy room, the coach's office, the co-coach's office, the manager's office and the conference room. All of which was surrounded completely by a balcony overlooking the practice pitch. The pair traveled to the conference room.

"Adorable isn't the word I'd use. Macho, manly even, are much better choices."

Veelma shook her head and glanced at Hank. The short, curly haired, big brown eyed Hank with a baby face was incredibly adorable. "Don't give me that look." Hank muttered.

Veelma rolled her eyes and smiling grabbed one of the many foldable chairs next to the Daily Prophet's competitor, The Wizard's Muddle. Hank set up his camera in the back opposite the desk where the coach would answer the press' questions about his new team. "Hi Amanda."

"You haven't seen Chandra have you?"

"No," Veelma said taking a ball-point pen from her pocket. Amanda looked at the pen and snorted. "You and your damn Muggle contraptions." Amanda was obviously referring to the typewriter that had belonged to her mother.

"It's not all Muggle," Veelma said defensively. As the pen floated of it's own accord in mid-air with her notepad. "Besides it's cleaner than a quill." Quills had a tendency to splatter and the pen was an easy solution.

"Hank..." Amanda began s the man in question walked over.

"I haven't seen her Amanda."

"She is the worse cameraman ever." Amanda moaned.

"Come to the Prophet," Veelma suggested.

"Really you should," Hank said with a grin.

"No, you can't convince me it's better."

"Amanda darling, first off no Chandra. Already a huge advantage."

"Plus it is Britains choice read." Veelma said with a shrug.

"Not trying to fool others to the Prophet again are we?" Michael Newman from Witch Weekly said upon arriving in the room.

"What the hell are you guys doing here?"

"This team is trending with young witches," Michael shrugged.

"Your readership is mostly male," Veelma said with a snort.

"Don't blame me, I'm just a cog in the machine." Michael grinned.

"Well then pull yourself out, make the system defunct," Hank smirked.

"I'm one of the unimportant cogs, one that's off to the side and won't be missed. I'm the cog Madame 'de Volleifon' sends to stupid Quidditch conferences." Madame de Volleifon was Witch Weekly's editor in chief. No one knew her real name but rumor had it the current one arrived with a new dose of beauty spells.

"Quidditch and stupid don't belong in the same sentence." Veelma's stomach dropped as she turned to see a smiling James Potter in the doorway leaning up againist the frame.

"You mean to tell me _you _forgot to cast Mufflito Hank!" Michael joked.

"Why me!"

"You're adorable," Amanda cooed.

Veelma snorted, Amanda had obviously caught part of the conversation earlier then.

"James have you seen..."

"Chandra?"

Amanda nodded eagerly.

"She's off flirting with the team." James gestured behind him. "On the pitch."

"Dear Merlin i'm going to strangle that girl," Amanda muttered as she left the room. "Bloody hell."

"That girl is in for a tirade," Michael murmured.

"She won't mind," James said. "Anthony and her apparently are dating now."

"Aparantely?"

"Well if the way they were sucking face is any indication."

Veelma couldn't help herself, she laughed. His eyes flitted over to her and narrowed. Any hope she'd harbored of James being reasonable quickly evaporated. When he took in the floating notepad and pen he was practically squinting.

He opened his mouth perhaps (most likely) to throw an insult her way when The Quidditch Quarter team barged into the room. James was effectively distracted, if a reporter from the Quidditch Quarter decided a player was bad tempered it went in the magazine. All hard core Quidditch fans swore by the Quarter.

She took a deep breathe and focused. She had been doing shitty work all because she wanted to avoid seeing James Potter. Her boss ahd thrown around the definite possibility of a potential sacking if she didn't improve. There was no way in hell James was getting her sacked.

The conference hall quickly filled after the arrival of the Quarter the remainder of which included multiple Radio host and a handful of obscure newspapers. Veelma briefly discussed what type of shots she'd prefer for the article with Hank. Chandra finally appeared albeit flushed and the coaches and manager arrived. It was a flurry of questions.

"What do you have to say to the Cannons statement last week?"

"I've choosen not to take it seriously."

"Why?"

"They haven't won a game for a solid two seasons."

"Sir, sir, is it true your seeker is injured?"

"No, no that's a rumor started by Darren Hopkins I believe."

"What do you think of your chances?"

"I think we have a good shot. We here at Puddlemere have an excellent team."

"Do you believe your team has a chance of representing Britain in the World Cup this year?"

"It's hard to say but I think we have a fighting chance."

"What do you say to the accusation that you've built too young a team?" Veelma asked.

The Coach leaned forward a smile on his face. "Miss..."

"Skeeter," Veelma supplied.

"Miss Skeeter, age does not limit talent and I assure you we have a talented team."

Veelma nodded and smiled, "Of course, but do you have any concerns about maturity?"

"None at all, I've been lucky to replace excellent players with just as brilliant people. They have shown themselves to be highly dedicated to the game. Any concern about age is ridiculous."

The questioning continued for a half an hour with similarly vague answers before the conference drew to a close. Veelma walked out onto the balcony with Hank as he discussed the shots he had acquired. Veelma waved goodbye to Amanda who was chasing after Chandra.

"I'm going to go develop these," Hank said. "Do you want to come?"

Veelma shook her head, "No I think I'll write the article at home."

"Nevdin will be pissed."

"Let him be pissed, I'm going to write a damn good article."

Hank laughed, murmered his goodbye and ran after Amanda. Sighing Veelma leaned againist the rail and looked out at the pitch. It was a nice facility, almost enough to make her wish she'd stayed in the game. She hadn't been good enough to play proffesionaly but she missed it from time to time.

"What type of question was that?" James demanded coming up behind her with an angry scowl on his face. He stopped right next to her and crossed his arms.

"Were you waiting for Hank to leave?"

"Answer the question."

"I frankly don't know what you're talking about."

"The maturity question, what the hell are you playing at?" He glared at her.

Veelma guffawed, "You think...My god, you think that was directed at you?" Veelma laughed again.

"Don't pretend that it wasn't you skank I'm not an idiot."

Veelma ground her teeth, "yes you are. Don't assume everything is about you. The Sun does not rise and set at your command. You may be the youngest player on the team but there are fucking twenty and twenty-one year olds starting on this team too."

"I do not think the sun rises and sets on my demand."

"Yes you do! You are the most egotistical, self-centered, narcissist I've ever met!"

"I am not a..."

"Yeah you are. Not once have I seen you think about anyone else. It's always about you!"

James grew red in the face, "Lets take a look at you then shall we? You're a nosy, Slutty little bitch, who seduced a guy to write a fucking news story, who try as she might can't live up to the brillance of her mother."

"You take that back!" she yelled.

Veelma didn't know who pulled it out first but both had their wand to the others throat. They glared at each other daring with their eyes for one to make the first move.

With a sigh Veelma shoved her wand back into her pocket. "We can't keep doing this."

James removed his own wand form her neck and put it in his robes.

"One of us will end up in Askaban with the other six feet under."

James snorted, "What is your alternative?"

"We ignore each other as best..."

"That's not going to happen."

"If you would just..."

"It's not just me," James yelled pointing at the conference room.

"Fine a truce."

James looked at her skeptically, "What does this entail?"

"We have to be civil around other people but say we run into each other alone then, have at it."

James nodded his assent.

"You have to stop calling me a whore..wait," she said in response to James' attempted interruption. "And If you do that I won't write articles about your Gay Lover telling all."

"You..."

"I have a few stock piled."

James was looking at her critically as if analzying if it was a trick, he glanced at her outreached hand in apprhension before grabbing hold of it and shaking. "Fine."

He turned and left. Since avoidance obviously wouldn't work, peace was the next best policy.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading!**


End file.
